


Falling

by BloodyAbattoir



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bifrost, Bittersweet Ending, Insanity, Mind Break, Not A Fix-It, Not Canon Compliant, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, POV Second Person, Suicide Attempt, falling, losing your mind, time lapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 00:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18767476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: You are (were) Loki, (not) son of Odin (Laufey), (not) rightful king of Asgard (Jotunheim), and you are forever falling, forever failing. Sooner or later, you must hit the ground. Canon divergence, assumes everything after the first Thor movie doesn't exist.





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mastre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mastre/gifts).



> Canon divergence. Loki is never found by Thanos and the Other. A bit of a mindfuck story in regards to what happened when he fell off the Bifrost at the end of the first Thor movie. Spoiler alert - he loses his mind more than just a little. After seeing the disservice that Infinity War has done to this character, I decided to write my own version of a fix-it. Not quite a happy ending, but not a sad one either.

When you let go of the spear that day on the Bifrost, you were sucked into the void of space and time. That much, you had expected, had hoped for. What you had not expected, what you had hoped against, was your continued survival. You didn't want to survive. By letting go of the spear, you had hoped that within minutes, you would be dead, nothing more than a frosty corpse floating through the liminal spaces, never to be saved or recovered or heard from again. But alas, that was too much to hope for. 

 

You  were falling for so long that eventually, you lost track. You were cold and hungry. All that you could see for the longest time was black. No stars. No planets. Not even a passing spaceship to entertain your thoughts, of which there were too many of. You were floating along, alone. You no longer knew which way was up. 

 

Left to your own devices, you had nothing to do but contemplate your life, and the events that had lead you to taking your own life. Your failure at being king. Constantly trapped in the shadow of  ~~your older brother~~ Thor. The rejection of  ~~your father~~ Odin. The cursed knowledge that you were the monster that  ~~your people~~ the Asgardians told their children about. You were  ~~a crown prince~~ a stolen relic. Your birthright was to  ~~be king, second in line for the throne~~ die. They never loved you. No matter how you conspired to make them love you, your schemes had backfired, and now, not only did your family hate you, so did the general population of Asgard. You were a persona non grata. 

 

These thoughts spiraled around and around your head, tumbling along until they were all that you could think of. They had embedded themselves into your thoughts, until you couldn't tell where your memories and your thoughts and hopes and dreams ended and began. It was one primordial soup, until you weren't sure who you were supposed to be anymore,  _ ~~~~what_ you were supposed to be. King or child, prince or monster, friend or foe. 

 

Wracked with guilt, hatred, fear, anger, all roiling together in a toxic mix, you let out a scream. There was not a single soul around to hear you. You screamed your thoughts out into the void of space, everything that you had been bottling up for so many centuries. You screamed until your vocal chords ruptured and you were spitting up blood. It did little to soothe your soul. 

 

Now, rendered mute, you continued to fall. You'd lost track of all time, and without even your voice to distract yourself once in a while, you lost your grip on what passed as your sanity. You almost couldn't remember what had driven you to this in the first place, why you were so upset, why you were falling. Your memories fuzzed and warped and faded until they felt more like dreams than memories. Your dreams were filled with faces that you cannot quite remember. A broad-shouldered blonde man with a strange hammer. An old man, gray and grizzled. He wears an eyepatch and his face seems permanently set in a frown. There's a woman, too. She's older than you, but she isn't as old as the man with the eyepatch. She's softer around the edges, kinder than either of the other two. 

 

You know that there are others, associated with the faces that you barely remember, but you remember these people even less. A man with dark skin and strange eyes. A woman with coal black hair. There is a wave of resentment attached to her, but you do not understand why. A rotund man rarely seen without food. You knew that at one point you actively disliked them, but you cannot remember the particulars. In time, their faces fade, and they, along with their names, are forgotten. 

 

You are still falling. 

 

Names have eluded you, faces have faded away, and now language, sweet language, has started to fade as well. You knew at one point you were gifted with it, but after falling for so long, having no mental stimulation for so long, being unable to so much as speak for so long, you have started to lose your grasp on words. First goes the more abstract of these words, the more bizarre and unused. Then, the more commonly spoken words.

 

By the end of it, you cannot remember your name. Falling is all that you know. 

 

Eventually, however, you must land, and land hard you do. 

 

Somehow, you never noticed the planet that was steadily growing larger behind you. It looked almost like Earth, but the lifeforms couldn't have been more different. It was outside of Odin's Nine Realms. You'd never heard of it before. It is only when the skies started to lighten into a light greenish blue that you realized that something had changed. One look over your shoulder told you that you were approaching the ground faster than you would've thought possible. You panicked, willing something to happen, but you didn't know what.

 

You'd forgotten your magic along with your words, and there was nothing that you could do to stop yourself from falling. 

 

You hit the ground at full length on your side. The impact shatters every bone in your body, and the pain is enough for you to black out before you could even contemplate screaming. 

 

Eventually, you awaken. You are not sure whether it is hours or days or weeks later. All that you know when you awaken is that your entire body is in agony, Breathing is a task in and of itself. Consciousness quickly eludes you, and you fall back into your stupor. 

 

You remain there for a long time. You aren't sure how long you spent unconscious, but now, you can roughly mark the number of days based on the rising and setting of this planets sun and three moons. You aren't sure how long the days really are, but it no longer matters. You are trapped there, more trapped than when you were falling, but at least now, you have something to focus on. This blessing, however, has come too late, and you can barely remember why it mattered so much that you have something to focus on in the first place. 

 

The ground slowly sinks beneath you, and moss and grass grow over your body, bit by bit.Your bones mend, crooked and twisted. You have been here for too long. The land begins to reclaim you. You are barely more than a fallen tree in the eyes of this planet. The rain is cold and clear and washes away all of your sins, past and present, real and imagined. It wets your dried lips for the first time that you can remember since forever. 

 

The sun warms your skin, warms the moss that grows on you. It makes you feel alive again, truly alive. 

 

Time grows, until finally, there is no separation between you and the earth. You are the planet, the planet is you. Your heartbeat is linked with the growth of the grass, the rain runs through your veins, the bugs of the land are your body's very own cells.

 

Eventually, some of the trees around you are felled. They crash to the ground, ripping up sod with them. You cry out for them, the loss of what could have been, but you no longer have a voice. Your calls of grief, your mourning escapes in fevered gasps. You do not know why, but they are important to you. As long as this land is healthy, so are you. When this planet dies, so will you. 

 

In their place, the inhabitants of this planet place small plants, flowers, some type of fruit. A strange contraption that the young of those inhabitants climb on and leap off, again and again. It brings these small creatures joy, and they shriek and yell with glee. You do not understand what they are saying, but you understand the emotions behind it. They are enjoying themselves, and you cannot help but feel the muscles in your face twitch. It would've been a smile, if you were able to still smile. 

 

Sooner or later, one of the small creatures discovers you, nearly steps on you. It talks to you, gibbering in a high pitched voice. You cannot understand the exact words, but you understand the concept behind them. It is not showing fear. It is curious. 

 

You slowly blink at it, once, twice. 

 

It lets out a whoop and flees. 

 

The child does not stay away long. It brings back more young aliens. They stick around the mound that entombs you, speaking in that strange language, cackling with glee. They do not touch you, do not disturb you further. You are glad for their company, while it lasts. It is interesting, and breaks the monotony. 

 

A rhythm quickly develops. Any day that it isn't raining, the tiny aliens come to visit you. They talk, and sing, and dance, and laugh. Some of them start leaving things there for you. A toy. A pretty blue flower. A jacket. Countless trinkets and 'gifts' that were objectively worthless, but meant the world to you. 

 

Eventually, the alien children that you have grown to know mature. They grow too old to play in the woods, too old to leave gifts and offerings to the strange entity that lurks under the grass layer a short walk from the playground. They grow old enough to have children of their own, and the cycle repeats itself. You have a constant stream of young visitors, a constant flow of offerings. 

 

You do not know who you are, where you are. The only thing you know is that you are loved. 


End file.
